


The fifth New Year's Resolution

by Xaori



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Bad Humor, Chris Redfield on drugs, Cleon, Embarrassing questions, F/M, Fluff, New Year, New Year's Resolutions 2006, Weird story please forgive me, but it's legal drugs, he swears, not fluffy enough for this time of the year
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 08:28:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28507458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xaori/pseuds/Xaori
Summary: They believed nobody would ever mention those lists of New Year's Resolutions again.But Chris thinks they are a nice distraction for a mourning man like him.
Relationships: Leon S. Kennedy/Claire Redfield
Comments: 9
Kudos: 34
Collections: [cleon protection squad] secret santa event 2020





	The fifth New Year's Resolution

**Author's Note:**

  * For [onehelluvafirstdate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/onehelluvafirstdate/gifts).



> This work is my Secret Santa Gift for the amazing onehelluvafirstdate. Merry Christmas and Happy 2021, my dear!! ❤ You deserve all the Cleon love of this world.

**_New Year 2006 - 1am_ **

“I didn’t travel,” Claire whispers as she blinks at the fireworks that flash up in the night sky, painting a game of pink and yellow onto the black canvas. “I mean, I didn’t travel for pleasure. I traveled with TerraSave, but I never had the time to do some sightseeing or even get souvenirs.” She slowly turns to face the man next to her. “That’s kind of sad, isn’t it?”

Leon snorts into his glass, causing a deep breath of good Scotch to greet him back with sickening density. It’s sad, indeed, that Claire can’t enjoy her stays in foreign nations and the big cities across their country, but he can't really say that he pities her. It would be hypocritical of him, as his own life is just the same. It’s one of the many things they have in common, along with the lack of social life and anything other people consider _normal_ , but there isn’t much freedom you can still enjoy once _Raccoon City Survivor_ pops up in your resume. He himself knows the feeling of not getting to see enough of the million places he’s sent to, always busy chasing down enemy forces, rescuing president daughters and killing B.O.W.s until he drops into the bed of a random luxury hotel room at nightfall.

“We’ll have plenty of time once we retire,” he chuckles, knowing how far they both are from even thinking about retiring. A sarcastic glance is thrown into his direction and the redhead grunts displeased.

“If we live to retire.”

She’s right again, he knows. He feels it every time his mind drifts off to that last assignment he went on, the one that nearly cost him his last heartbeat. Their jobs will get them killed sooner or later; if not from a zombie bite, then from anxiety and lack of sleep. 

“I’m having a Dejà-vu here,” he allows himself to point out and watches Claire’s head drop into an uncontrollable chuckle.

“I know,” she exclaims heartfeltly. “It’s the same every year.”

Yes, it is. Their good-willed habit of spending New Year’s Eve together, promising each time to make it as normal as possible —albeit skipping the annoying multitude of parties people tend to attend— always ends in a concert of laments and tragedies as soon as one of them — usually Leon— grabs the bottle of Scotch. Why would the year 2005 get a different farewell party than the previous ones? They met on the roof of Claire's apartment block and waited for 2006 to enter.

“I’m sorry, Leon,” she mumbles, voice pregnant with sorrow. “This is supposed to be a happy event.”

He clears his throat, pours the redhead another glass of Scotch and hands it to her.

“Don’t worry, Claire. At this point, these meetings, including all the complaints and cries, have become a little piece of our own happiness.”

He means it, and she knows he does. When everything you endure in your everyday life is battle and tragedy, anything that doesn’t include monsters and requires a shotgun is a welcome alternative, and his words put a faint smile onto her face. He watches her as he fishes out a cigarette and lights it.

They stay in silence for a while, watching the fireworks on the night sky and listening to the animated laughter on the streets below.

“I will travel more this year,” Claire suddenly says, underlining her words with an affirmative nod. “I always wanted to go to Korea.”

“North Korea or South Korea?” Her only response to his question is a big fat roll of eyes at which he laughs.

Maybe it’s the alcohol. Maybe it’s because it’s so cold he can’t feel his fingertips around the glass. Or maybe it’s just the fact that they just waved the year 2005 goodbye, that he’s on a roof with Claire Redfield and that it’s, sadly, the best he can say about his life, but something about the night makes it scarily easy for him to nod, laugh and reply with a loud _Okay, why not_ when she suddenly says, “We should make a list of New Year’s resolutions and make sure we fucking achieve them!”

Before he can actually consider what he’s just signed up for, Claire is already dashing down the stairs to her apartment, coming back a couple of minutes later with a stack of paper and a bunch of colorful crayons, tumbling across the roof towards him. She’s had a drink too much, it seems, but when he tries to turn on the chair and nearly falls over, he realizes he’s in no better condition than her.

"You expect me to write it down?"

Claire nods animatedly, the sheets and her hair moving in the wind of the winter's night.

"I'll tell you what we'll do. We're writing down five New Year's resolutions, Kennedy. But we won’t tell the other what we’re planning on achieving." She smirks and begins tracing down something onto a sheet of paper with a pink crayon. "Next New Year's Eve, we'll meet here, in this same spot, and check together if we accomplished them. That's fun, right?"

He's hesitant. More than that, actually, because he's never liked the damn tradition people followed out of guilt and fueled by alcohol. He also never liked secrets.

"Why can't we tell each other about them?"

Claire pouts a bit, picking up the glass to take another sip, before coming up with a logical explanation.

"This is like a birthday wish. You can't tell people about your New Year's resolutions or you won't accomplish them."

Yes, she's clearly drunk, and if he was sober, he would know that her theory makes no sense, but, again, he's had probably twice as much as she’s had and it’s become too hard for him to keep a clear head. So, he blinks. He blinks again. He tries to object, but his blurry mind doesn't allow for any coherent complaints, and all he can manage is that one tiny shrug of shoulders.

"Fine,” he then says and arches an eyebrow. “But no cheating, Redfield! Don’t make another list in summer when you find out that you can’t achieve your goals."

He must admit, he’s impressed when the redhead turns the paper sheet she was drawing on to him and he realizes it’s not a plain piece of paper, but an envelope. It shows the words _Leon Kennedy & Claire Redfield’s 2006 Resolutions _in her beautiful, clear and unique handwriting. She’s drawn a little heart next to his name and some sort of champagne glass next to hers.

“That’s why we will put the lists into this envelope and keep it closed until next year.” She giggles and hands him a paper sheet and a blue crayon. “So we can’t cheat. We will just have to remember our resolutions.”

After an awkward attempt to lick his dry lips, Leon takes the crayon he’s offered and begins to trace the title _Leon S. Kennedy’s New Year’s Resolutions_ onto the paper.

When he looks up, Claire is already writing her list, using her left hand to shield her secret resolutions from the eyes of her friend as her tongue sticks out in utter concentration. Leon chuckles, turns to the paper and focuses on the small, blue number one he’s just jotted down. He has enough time to write _In 2006 I will_ before he realizes that he has no idea what to choose for himself to achieve during the year they just started.

“Shouldn’t we have decided that before midnight?” he asks, in hope Claire will reconsider and give up on the idea. But, oh, who is he trying to fool? If there’s anything he’s learned about Claire Redfield and her older brother, it’s that the stubbornness that runs in their family won’t let them ever change their mind once they made a choice.

"Nah! You can make New Year’s Resolutions as long as you believe you have time to achieve them before the year ends.” She looks up, giving him a dead serious glance in the eyes. “And you’re wasting precious time, Leon. Instead of asking stupid questions, you should be working on reaching your goals. Just sayin’”

He exhales wearily and lets his eyes drop back to the paper. Fine, he needs New Year’s Resolutions — five of them — quickly. What do normal people want to change about their life? Improving their health, maybe? Yes, that’s a good one, he decides and jots down _Quit smoking_ , and _Stop drinking_ — he reconsiders as his gaze moves to the half-empty glass of Scotch — _so much_. Yes, that’s better.

His looks swipes to Claire, who’s eagerly filling in her list without showing the slightest sign of hesitation. Maybe if he catches a glimpse of her list… No. She’ll definitely kick his balls with her biker boots if she catches him cheating, and he appreciates the dangling things too much to get them tortured so cheaply. So, back to thinking, Kennedy.

 _Call Mom and Dad once a week_ , he writes and nods at his idea. Yes, that’s a good one. His mother is always complaining about his job and how little time he has left for the family, and that he doesn’t come home for Thanksgiving or Christmas and that he’s not bringing a girlfriend home and that she’s never going to have grandchildren and… Leon reconsiders and crosses out the last word, adding _month_ instead. Okay, that makes three. 

Claire has already stopped writing and is now watching him. He decides to imitate her and hides his list behind his left hand as he quickly writes down the fourth resolution. _Start a new hobby_. That will actually be his first one after the habit of collecting postage stamps he started in high school and which he gave up upon because of work and because the remains of the collection are at his parents’ house and, as the third resolution suggests, he avoids going home. He will have to find a new hobby, apparently. Ship modelling or drawing girls naked, maybe. Or cooking. Anyway, it’s not like he has to decide it right away.

Okay, now there’s only one resolution left, and Leon has no idea what he could possibly choose. Wondering if there’s anything he always wanted to do —besides becoming a cop in Raccoon City— he starts chewing on one end of the tasteless crayon and turns back to Claire.

The redhead has helped herself to a cigarette from his pack and is staring at the fireworks again, paying no attention to him anymore. He watches her as the bright lights trace a line around her silhouette, making her hair shine with flashes of pink and green, as the smoke curls sensually from her lips.

Her lips. Soft and smooth, round and full, always with that shimmer of a smile on them no matter how desperate the situation is. Claire might be a stubborn, hot-headed and sometimes a little scary girl, but she’s the most caring person he’s ever met. A fighter, no doubt, but also a healer. When Claire Redfield chooses to take care of you, to love and heal you, you can consider yourself the luckiest person on Earth.

With that thought on his mind, Leon starts chuckling and writes down the fifth New Year’s Resolution on his list.

He folds the paper and hands it to Claire, who buries it with her own list in the envelope and seals it. She will later keep it in a safe place, where no stranger will ever find it. However, the two lists are soon forgotten when Claire’s phone rings.

“Hey Chris! Happy New Year!”

* * *

**_New Year’s Eve 2006 - 7pm_ **

“Kennedy! Merry Christmas!”

He won’t deny that the face and voice he’s greeted by isn’t the one he’s prepared for, but neither will he admit how Chris’ unexpected presence in Claire’s apartment that New Year’s Eve baffles him. Leon shakes the snowflakes off as he steps inside, let in by the older brother of his red-haired friend.

“Chris,” he mouths, ignoring the late Christmas wishes, and pulls his right glove off before offering the bigger Redfield the mandatory handshake of respect. “It’s good to see you, man. How... have you been?”

The determined shrug combined with the awkward grin on the older man’s lips catches him off guard. He’s heard, of course, about the tragic mission during which Jill Valentine, partner and girlfriend of the brave Agent Redfield, went missing. Claire has told him everything about the fatal intervention and the three months her brother spent searching for the woman, or at least for mortal remains to bury, before she was declared dead. Chris, however, doesn’t look like a man who has recently lost the woman he loved.

“I’m good. Aside from the death of my long-time partner,” he says and laughs hysterically, scaring Leon a bit. “Oh, you brought snacks. That’s so nice. Thank you.”

After taking the boxed up dim sums from Leon’s hand, Chris closes the door behind him and gestures to the living room, where Claire is busy setting the table for dinner. She looks stressed, with her hair combed back into a messy ponytail that leaves some curls untied and a frown carved into her face. When she looks up, though, all the worries seem to vanish from her features.

“Leon!” she cheers as she walks up to him and pulls him into her hug, more tightly than usual, and he feels all the concern she’s been through in the previous weeks and months, undeniably related to the brother who, in the meantime, strolls into the kitchen to check on the contents of the oven. “It’s so good to see you.”

Once he’s released from the sling of her arms, he gives her a questioning glance and tilts his head toward the kitchen.

“What…?”

Imitating her brother’s first reaction, the redhead shrugs, but the nervous giggle indicates that it’s a gesture full of concern and anxiety. A shimmer of tears flickers in her eyes and Leon sees her throat work down a knot.

“I hope you don’t mind that he’s spending the evening with us, but I can’t leave him alone this year,” she explains apologetically. “They put him on pretty strong antidepressants after he ruined the B.S.A.A’s Christmas party.” She rolls her eyes to the swinging motion of her shaken head. “I mean, I don’t know how they even had the guts to ask him to give a speech when they know he’s mourning. Anyway. He’s harmless now. No. Not harmless. He’s euphoric. It’s actually scary in what good mood he is. I tell you, that’s no normal medication he’s been given.”

Leon slips out of his winter coat and throws the garment over the backrest of the closest chair before Claire grabs it and wordlessly carries it to the coat rack next to the door. He has barely time to give her an apologetic shrug before Chris storms out of the kitchen with a tray of fuming chicken fingers in his hands.

“Please have a seat, guys!” He exclaims loudly. “Dinner’s ready!”

* * *

Dinner wasn’t entirely ready yet, Leon notices when he bites the first undercooked fried shrimp. It’s tasty, though, so he just drowns it in cocktail sauce and forces it down. Claire is aware, too, that Chris’ help in the kitchen hasn’t been of much help, as she chews bitterly on the finger food she usually NAILS. 

On top of that, they can’t drink because Chris, with his strong medication, can’t drink.

Happy. New. Year.

“I love these dim sums, Kennedy. Look how fluffy they are!” The older Redfield howls and lets one drop to his plate from an excessive height. It smacks onto the ceramic and turns into a flat, sticky mass. He laughs again. “Hah! Look! It disintegrated! Just like Jill when she went out of that window!”

Leon turns to Claire in shock, right on time to see the blood drain from her face, an immediate reaction to her brother’s attempt at coping. It’s awkward, yes, but Chris is the only one eating with a healthy appetite, reminding the other two every now and then that he lost his partner five months prior, and that he’s goddamn not over it yet. Claire, visibly caught between the concerns for Leon’s comfort and her brother’s mental health, barely touches her plate. Not even the home-made meatballs, the only appetizer that is fairly excellent, seems to appetize her, and she just pokes them with her fork, deconstructing them back into their mashed state. The festive music doesn’t have the desired effect and turns the sad scene into a tragic picture of decay and misery, underlined by the animated chomping Chris’ mouth performs around the finger food. It’s the most pathetic, depressing and decrepit situation Leon has ever encountered, let alone been part of. And, trust me, he’s encountered a lot of those situations.

“So, Kennedy,” Chris calls him out all of a sudden, his attention still tightly set on his plate. “What have you been up to? Have you destroyed any more religious cults in Europe or are you planning on doing so next year?”

Leon’s eyes rise and he slowly shakes his head.

“No, thanks,” he replies as he turns to the left, where Claire is still trying to stab her food. “Hopefully no outbreaks at airports either.”

She puts the fork down and turns to face him, a gentle smirk blossoming on her lips as they share a memory of their encounter at Harvardville Airport.

“Nor suicidal S.R.T. agents,” she counters and laughs mischievously as Leon lowers his head. They have spoken about what exactly happened at Harvardville, how they failed to talk and cooperate back then and yet survived the dangerous situations.

“Nor suicidal big brothers,” Leon adds; originally referring to Curtis Miller, who blew himself up in the Wilpharma Facility; oblivious, until the words are spoken, to the fact that there’s another suicidal brother right there with them. Claire’s eyes open widely and she spins to face Chris. Luckily, the older Redfield is busy slicing up a piece of meat ball.

“You have to tell me about Harvardville someday,” he complains between chews and grabs the glass of soda, taking a long, refreshing sip from it. Claire watches him speechlessly, full of relief and incredulity. 

“I will,” she mumbles and turns back to Leon, receiving a jump of eyebrows in response.

“So,” Chris continues, apparently incommoded by the sudden rise of silence. “What are your plans for the new year, then? Any New Year’s Resolutions you want to share?”

Leon is busy tearing some bread as the question sinks in. New Year’s Resolutions? That sounds strangely familiar. His eyes dart to Claire’s face, where a sly smile grows out of nowhere and as her clear blue eyes meet his, he knows that they both remember.

At least they remember the fact that they both made a list of New Year’s Resolutions the previous year, because he doesn’t recall any of the items on his list.

Not a single one of them.

He does remember, though, another tiny detail of the previous year.

“I can’t tell you about that. I won’t accomplish my resolutions if I tell you,” he mutters determinedly, remembering Claire’s convincing argument and hoping that it will put the subject to rest, but it only makes Chris scoff.

“Whaaaat?” The B.S.A.A. agent lets out a high-pitched howl as his eyes turn to Claire. “That’s ridiculous! New Year’s Resolutions are no shooting star-wishes.”

The government agent limits his reaction to a short blink, but the older man keeps insisting.

“Is it because you plan on losing weight and don’t want to tell us about your obsession with your looks?” 

More laughter fills the room, causing Leon to frown in offense. That man spends his days _and nights_ at the gym, but _he_ is the one obsessed with his looks? Claire decides to jump in and save the day,

“Oh, Chris. I believe we don’t really know what we’ll be doing,” she sighs and finally pokes a piece of mashed meatball with her fork. “I think, at this point, we can just look forward to a peaceful year without bioterror.”

Good answer. Leon nods in agreement at the truth in her words. Peace and prosperity is what they all wish for, something they have been forced to live without since Raccoon City.

“Yes but that should be the terrorists’ New Years Resolution, not yours.”

Chris has a point, too, of course, and the way Claire tilts her head and pouts says she’s aware that her brother will not give up easily. Also because the curious smirk doesn’t quite vanish from his face. Chris clears his throat and gulps down the rest of his soda before speaking up again.

“I have decided to enjoy this upcoming year,” he explains between laughs as his eyes jump frantically from Claire to Leon and back. “You know. Getting more sleep, watching better movies, meeting better people. I want to see Niagara Falls.” He pauses and swallows. “Jill always talked about going there.”

Chris goes quiet for a second and Leon watches a hint of undisclosed sadness surface on his features, one of the tiny pieces of grief the medication has failed to cover, and his gaze drives to Claire. The redhead sighs so deeply that her shoulders drop and her hand reaches for her brother’s.

“Oh, Chris,” she mouths but Chris, again, bursts into hilarious laughter.

“I would scatter her ashes down the waterfalls, but we never found her body!” He keeps gurgling as though Jill's tragic death was a joke, and Claire, once more, rolls her eyes at the situation. “Had she been a smoker, I would have some cigarette stubs to throw away.”

Sure that it’s a mistake, but infected by the touch of crazy Chris delights them with, Leon starts laughing, earning a cold gaze from the redhead next to him. It’s a glance meant to kill and, usually, it would make him shut up immediately, but Chris keeps wheezing and it’s so sad that it’s contagious, and the harder Claire kicks his shin under the table, the more Leon laughs along with the older Redfield.

“Okay,” Chris says when the laughter finally fades. “Now, seriously, didn’t you tell me last year you two made a list of New Year’s Resolutions? Did you achieve them?” 

Leon hasn’t entirely caught his breath yet when Chris blurts out his knowledge and he nearly chokes on the revelation that the older Redfield knows about their resolutions. He’s uncomfortable about the idea that Chris _fucking_ Redfield learns what’s on his lists, especially since he could have written down anything. A-ny-thing.

And he senses it’s something pretty damn stupid.

He must be making some sound of pity, something close to a broken puppy, probably, which catches Claire’s attention. The redhead understands and elegantly shrugs the subject off.

“Oh, those! Yeah, we were a little tipsy when we wrote them, weren’t we, Leon? I don’t even want to see what we expected ourselves to achieve. We’d probably laugh at things like _Riding at least four elephants_ and _hijacking Patrick Dempsey’s private jet_ .” She giggles and props her chin up kind of theatrically. “ _Fortunately_ –” She remarks that word in excess. “–I don’t remember where I kept them.”

End of discussion. Proud of you, Claire. If any of them were at least slightly drunk, they clearly would be impressed by the skill the younger Redfield shows off, easily talking her brother out of asking annoying questions.

"They’re in your swimwear drawer."

However, it's not enough to shut the mouth of Chris Redfield. Claire frowns at her brother as though she doesn't know what he's speaking about, but the pearls of sweat are too abundant on her forehead for this time of the year. 

"Yeah, you said you left the lists there." Chris jumps up as soon as the words have slipped out and dashes into Claire's bedroom, leaving the younger people sitting dumbfounded at the dining table. 

"You told him where you kept them?" Leon is the first to find his voice again. "You actually _kept_ them and you told him where?"

The scoff he's given almost amuses him.

"He always forgets my birthdays. How could I have figured he would actually remember something stupid I told him one year ago?"

The sounds of big hands rummaging a drawer and the distinctive noise of battering paper reach them and Leon freezes a second, wondering what kind of nickname he’s going to earn himself that night.

"Patrick Dempsey?" He asks incredulously and Claire’s eyebrows turn into high hooks. “I didn’t know you were into _McDreamy_.”

The redhead just laughs and shakes her head.

“ _You_ are the _Grey’s Anatomy_ fan, Leon,” she explains, crossing her arms. “Hijacking his plane would have been your resolution.”

He wants to counter and deny it all, but he can’t come up with a proper response that would justify his knowledge other than the fact that the show had him hooked since the first time he _accidentally_ watched it. And he’s been totally hoping for _McDreamy_ and Meredith to get together since episode one.

Chris has the widest of grins plastered on his face when he storms back into the dining room, holding up the lists as high as his eyebrows have jumped. Joy and expectation are happily dancing across his face.

"Found them!” He fans himself with the envelope in pride and exhilaration. “Let’s check how many of these you achieved throughout the year. I’ll be the judge. ”

At first, Claire sighs in defeat, but the pleased expression on her face shows that she’s okay with the revelation of her failed 2006 resolutions as long as it keeps Chris docile and serene and _happy_. Leon, on his end, only grunts annoyedly.

“I’d rather not share my resolutions with you,” he silently mutters and is immediately rewarded with the most frightening grimace he has ever seen on Chris Redfield, the first one they get to witness that night.

“Have a bit of compassion, Kennedy, and share your dumb little list,” the older man says calmly as his left eye twitches. “I couldn’t achieve my resolutions this year, because the woman I was going to propose to went and fucking died, okay?”

He's not in the mood for games, less even with the psychopath of the poorly-mourning Chris Redfield, but Leon doesn't want to offend either of the siblings. One look at Claire is enough to make himself feel encouraged.

"Fine," he mouths. "It can be fun."

* * *

It’s almost as usual, Leon realizes as he stares at the sky. He’s on a roof on New Year’s Eve, with a Redfield. The booze is missing. The smokes are missing, too. Oh, and the Redfield he’s with isn’t the one he’s used to. Aside from that, though, it’s pretty much the same.

Claire has sent Chris and Leon to wait for her on the roof while she grabs some blankets and places the remaining snacks onto a tray, refusing any help offered by the two men. And so, Leon suddenly finds himself alone on the roof with the man who is giving chemical coping mechanisms a try that night.

He hates the silence the older man exhales.

“You know, Chris,” he says in attempted complicity, even though he’s never been good at offering comfort. Claire would agree. “I admire you.”

The older Redfield gives him a perplexed stare and grunts, causing Leon to clarify.

“You know. How you are dealing with all this. Jill’s passing.”

It’s a lie, of course, and not even a very good one, and Chris has to notice it, even with his brains turned to mousse by the medication, that nobody admires him for how he’s dealing with anything. The older man rolls a cigarette and lights it, without a word at first. It’s not until the first drag is blown out that he turns to Leon.

“ _I_ did it.”

The agent blinks, not wanting to understand what Chris is referring to.

“What?”

“I pushed her out of the window. Then I went down and buried her body where nobody will ever find it,” the older man explains with a cheeky grin and a shrug. “She never let me watch sports when I wanted to. She had to die.”

A cold shudder runs down his back as he hears the words, because when Chris Redfield narrows his eyes the way he does now, it usually means that he’s _deadly_ serious and that he did, indeed, kill his girlfriend and put the blame on Albert Wesker. 

Not even the loud laughter that rolls over the rooftop and into the night when Chris yells, “Dude, that’s a joke! I don’t even like watching sports! Did you really believe that? Hahahaha!”, makes it any better. The arm Big Redfield throws around Leon’s shoulders as he pokes his cheek with his left index finger feels like a straitjacket around his body and it makes it hard to breathe.

“Chris, help me with this, please.”

He’s lucky Claire has finished climbing up the stairs to the roof right on time, asking her brother to leave the tray of food on the table as she hands out the blankets. She’s prepared spiced tea and brought home-made butter cookies along with the leftover finger food she has, clearly, warmed up again, and in a matter of a minute the cold metal furniture on the roof turns into a cozy place full of warmth bathed in the New Yorker starlight.

“Okay,” Chris says as he slowly opens the envelope, a sound Leon will never forget. “The time has come.”

He takes out the two lists and unfolds one of the papers, quickly rolling it into a tube which will allow him to uncover the resolutions item by item.

“Okay, let’s start with this one. Here we have Leon Kennedy’s 2006 resolutions,” he hums and clears his throat. “Pretty handwriting, Leon. Tell me, got a smoke?”

Perplexed, the agent arches an eyebrow at the half empty pack Chris has lying on the table and shakes his head.

"I quit it in March."

Chris looks at him impressed.

"Oh, did you?"

Leon nods disinterestedly.

"Yup. I was held captive by a terror group for a week. You might imagine that cigarettes weren’t part of the limited luxuries I was given there." He shrugs. "I never felt the need to smoke after that again."

Chris nods, the smirk of satisfaction evident on his face when he mumbles, "So, looks like you achieved the first of your resolutions, Kennedy. Quit smoking! Congratulations!"

Why, that was something unusual, he admits when he proudly receives the recognition from the hard-to-impress older Redfield. Chris lays the first list down and proceeds to unfold Claire's.

"Your turn, Claire-bear," he says as he rolls up the paper like he's done before with Leon's, and Claire props her chin up. "Claire Redfield's New _Years Resutions_. I wonder how much you really had when you wrote this."

She snorts as an upright middle finger attempts to provoke the older brother, but Chris just huffs and starts reading.

"Finish college," he exclaims with a jump of eyebrows. "You didn't."

"I did," the redhead yelps and crosses her arms in front of her chest. "I also started a Master's degree this year."

The two men glance at her in surprise. Not that either of them can chide her for the nine years it took her to get the degree in whatever Social Science she has now, as neither of them went to college, but their faces express a hint of relief and incredulity for they long gave up on the studies of the sister and best friend.

"Claire, that's fantastic!" Leon congratulates and Chris grunts.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

She sighs.

"I did. You just don't remember."

That's the moment when the smile vanishes from Chris' face and the regret surfaces in waves. He scratches the back of his head, visibly ashamed.

"I stopped paying attention to many important things. I'm sorry, Claire."

That moment, the redhead begins to laugh.

"I'm kidding. I didn't tell you," she exclaims and makes her brother frown. "It's not a big deal anyway."

The grunt that is ripped from his lips is one of disapproval.

"Hah! Don't say that." He raises his cup of spiced tea and clinks it against hers. "I’m proud of you. Congratulations."

Leon mirrors his move and words, wondering if the soft blush that crawls onto Claire's face is caused by their praises or the cold wind that blows over the roof.

"So, back to Kennedy's list." Chris returns to the first paper and rolls the second line uncovered. "Oh, stop drinking... that much." He turns to Leon, who lifts his cup of tea and smirks. "Yes, I guess you did that, too. Maybe next year you can give it up for good, huh?"

"No fucking way," Leon mutters and the trio laughs shortly, all three of them aware that the S in Leon S. Kennedy stands for Scotch — on a good day. Chris quickly grabs Claire's list and reveals the second item.

"Travel more." A sarcastic grimace invades his features. "More? You travel quite a lot, don't you think? You went to India, Colombia and Spain if I remember well."

She nods.

"Yes, but only for professional reasons."

The brother's eyes open wide in understanding.

"I see. And where else did you go?"

The redhead lets her eyes roll as she thinks.

"I went to Korea with my friend Kayla." She taps her chin with her index finger. "Just a short trip, but I did travel. I also got you souvenirs.” Her left eye twitches as her head cradles from one side to the other. She swallows and grabs a cookie from the tray. “They were just too yummy to make it through the ten-hour flight."

Leon can’t help it. He laughs loudly at her telling, amused and enchanted by Claire’s love for sweets and anything slightly tasty. He also laughs at how embarrassed she suddenly is, which happens so rarely that it’s a special treasure to cherish. He finds the blush on her cheeks absolutely adorable. Chris, on his end, receives the information with interest and lets his head sink into a short nod.

“Guess that means you did accomplish it. Fine. Back to you, Kennedy!”

Leon starts to find the weird checking of New Year’s Resolutions frankly funny and entertaining, also because he has, somehow, accomplished two out of his five resolutions without even being aware of it. Okay, ready for the next one. He grabs his cup and pours some heat into his body before listening attentively to Chris.

“Okay, it says _Call mom and dad once a month_.” He bends over and looks sternly at him. “Did you?”

Leon scoffs, he snickers, and he pulls his phone out, leaving it on the table in front of the older Redfield. Never has he felt more relieved about a tragic accident like the one his aunt Mary had in January, and which caused him to speak to his mother every other day. 

“Geraldine K.”

Chris unlocks the high-security government phone with surprising ease, and Leon watches wordlessly as Chris’ fingers dance over the keys to filter the sent calls to his mother.

“November, October, October, September, three in August. July and June. Twice in May, twice more in April, only one call in March, I guess because you were captured…” Leon gives him a nod as his smirk grows widely over his face. Claire watches them in impressed silence. “ Three times in February and four in January.”

Chris hands him the phone back and lets his lips form an impressed proud.

“See?” Leon exclaims and attempts to push the device back into his pocket. “Another achievement.”

“Not so fast, good boy,” Chris grunts and the blond holds still, waiting for the older man to speak out his complaint. “You didn’t call her in December.”

Claire, who’s been staring at her brother attentively, now spins her head to him as she asks, “ you didn’t call your mom this month? Not even for Christmas?”

The agent lifts his hands in defense.

“Hey, _she_ called for Christmas. Look it up Redfield.”

“That doesn’t count!” Claire winces and Chris shrugs in agreement. 

"She's kind of right, dude."

The cup of tea is swung around too harshly and the content laps over the edge and onto the table in front of Leon. He snarls, but before he can turn his attention fully to the puddle on the surface, Chris pushes the phone to Leon’s ear.

“Call your mother,” he grunts and waits for him to hold the device up. “It’s dialing.”

Why, shit. Leon notices too late that Chris has, indeed, dialed his mother’s number, but the Redfield siblings, with the ghost of their dead parents haunting them, won’t let him rest until he actually gives Geraldine and Arthur a call. Also, now that it has started ringing, it’s too late to just hang up again, as his mother will surely see the missed call and get worried. And his mother isn’t someone he wants to get worried.

“Oh, uhm…” he mouths awkwardly when he hears the older lady pick up on the other end. “Hey mom.”

Claire watches her friend, a little envious and a little mad because of the family he still has but never visits. She sees why, though, when all the gestures of the usually so confident government agent turn into those of a little boy when he as much as hears the voice of his mother. She finds it interesting, and secretly wonders if her grumpy big brother would be as shy and obedient around their mom as Leon is in the presence of Geraldine Kennedy. She turns to face him and the lovely curve his lips draw as he listens to Leon on the phone. Yes, maybe he would really be a coy and timid version of himself if their parents were still alive, and maybe he wouldn’t have taken Jill’s death so bad if he still had one of them to seek advice from. Claire wraps her arms around Chris' broad shoulders and leans into a caring hug, wondering if he’s having the same thoughts as she has.

“Oh, yeah, baby!”

Her eyes rip open wide automatically when she hears her brother make sensual moaning sounds in a high-pitched, robotic female voice. Leon, still on the phone with his mother, mirrors her expression.

“Leon. Don’t stop!”

“What the fuck, Redfield?” Leon hisses and Chris starts laughing so hard that he can barely press out another awkward sex noise. “Sorry, mom? Oh?”

After ungently punching Chris’ upper arm to make him shut up, Claire sits upright, grabbing another cookie as though the situation had nothing to do with her, and her brother rubs the pain of her fist away.

“Yes, that was her,” Leon mutters into the phone and looks at the redhead on the other side of the table. “Claire, mom. Name’s Claire.”

Claire’s jaw drops at the mention of her name and at how loudly Chris’ neck creaks when he spins to the government agent to give him one of his killer looks. She wonders how those antidepressants have deadened the bottomless sadness he feels over the loss of Jill, but not the jealousy of the bigger brother. Chris threateningly pulls his sleeves up, causing a reaction of panic in the blond man to his right.

“I’ll tell her, Mom. Gotta hang up now! Happy new Year!” Leon ends the call and tosses the device back onto the table, his eyes jumping between the Redfield siblings in a cocky haze of superbity before resting on Claire. “She insists you come to our next Thanksgiving dinner.” He bends over the table and lowers his voice. “Oh, and my dad is especially interested in the _lady with the lovely voice_.”

The redhead deadpans a second before lowering her head and hiding her face in her palms.

“Oh my god,” she howls into her hands as Leon begins to laugh.

“Thank your brother for that, Claire,” he comments and spins back to Chris, who is thoughtfully chewing on his bottom lip, grunting slightly from time to time. “I achieved that one, too. Claire’s next.”

Chris looks up in irritation, before nodding and taking Claire’s list back up.

“Adopt a pet,” he reads aloud and turns to his sister with a headshake. “You didn’t adopt a pet.”

The redhead finally removes her hands from her face and snorts.

“I adopted _you_ ,” she groans and shrugs. “I thought that was enough.”

For a second, only the cheering voices from the street below reach their ears as the temperature seems to have decreased another dozen degrees. The two siblings exchange serious glances and Leon feels strangely out of place.

“Uhm…” he mumbles and points towards the stairs, making a lousy attempt at excusing himself to leave them alone.

Chris, however, shrugs as soon as he recovers from the freeze and laughs.

“Okay! Yes that counts!” 

And the mood is back to normal. Or, at least, back to what it was before. Claire pouts and pours herself more spiced tea while her brother returns to Kennedy’s list.

“Start a hobby.” He makes a face of interest. “What hobby did you start, Leon?”

He never liked the way Chris says his first name, always in a tone heavy with judgement and the certainty that he wants him to stay the fuck away from his little sister. That night the undertone of disapproval isn’t easy to recognize, but it’s there, between the third and fourth muzzled cry of grief and right behind the huge wall his cheerful attitude represents. No matter what Leon does, he is never good enough to be Claire’s friend, and he doesn’t even want to know what would happen if they were ever to become more than that.

No. He's unworthy, no matter what he does.

"I started playing the guitar."

It's something he always wanted to do, but it wasn't until his therapist suggested him to flee into the comfort of music —something about creating something instead of only taking and destroying, as he does in his job— that he actually picked up his old guitar and started strumming it. Badly, yes. He doesn't have time to practice the recommended daily twenty minutes, but it doesn't keep him from playing it. Chris rolls his jaw as Claire lets out a slow gasp.

"Claire," the older Redfield says. "Get the guitar."

"What? No!" With his two palms pressed onto the table, Leon jumps up, throwing the chair over. It hits the floor with a dull, metallic drum. "What are you…?"

Chris snorts.

"You say you started playing. That's cool." He grunts and takes a sip from his cup. "I want you to play for me. Claire, get the guitar."

She's astonished and delighted and probably blushing when she gets up like the good sister she is and walks towards the stairs. The loud argument between the two men follows her down to her apartment, with Leon literally trying to fight the petition off while Chris ignores his reasoning.

"Dead girlfriend, Leon! Dead girlfriend!" Is the last thing she hears before slipping back into her apartment to dig out the instrument of strings and maple wood. It still lies peacefully in its black leather-coated case under her bed, untouched since 1998, but always near, hoping for a chance to heal one wound or the other. Claire's fingers trail along the hourglass curve with joyful curiosity and she cracks a smile. Maybe it's time it helps them heal.

Fortunately, the two men on the roof have stopped arguing, the shameless grin on Chris’ face telling the world who the winner of this fierceful argument has been. Leon hangs in the chair like a fallen soldier, his lips curved into a soft pout as he stretches his fingers.

“Okay,” Claire announces, a little breathlessly from her sprint up the stairs. “Here it is.”

Chris’ head sinks into a nod of satisfaction as he receives the case from his sister’s hands.

“Kennedy,” he speaks in a voice filled with pride. “You’ll be now introduced to the most important treasure the Redfield family owns. Something only a few are worthy of."

He knows it's a mistake he will regret with all his heart, if not now, surely in the future, as soon as Chris grows sober and bright enough to know what parts he needs to detach from Leon's body to make it irreparable without making it lethal. But the opportunity to leave the big brother stunned just pops up like the beam of a flashlight and it's too tempting to simply ignore it. Also, it won't be the first time that his tongue gets him in trouble, so Leon inhales, he chuckles and says, "I already know your sister, thanks."

The sudden confession doesn't only leave the older Redfield baffled, also Claire lets her ponytail draw a heavenly aureole around her head when it spins around, eyes and mouth wide open. Leon smirks. It's not easy to leave both Redfield siblings speechless, and he's sure he's done that at least a couple of times that night.

He secretly hopes for that achievement to be his last New Year's Resolution on the list.

Chris' eye twitches funnily. Frighteningly, rather, but it's nothing he isn't used to already. The broad man pushes the clasps on the case open to reveal a shiny, light brown Taylor acoustic guitar, and Leon speaks an imperceptible _wow_ when his look drops to the instrument.

"Leon," Chris mumbles as he settles the guitar onto his knee and starts twisting the tuning pegs as his right thumb checks the sound of each string. "It's New Year's Eve and I'm going to let that one slide, but never— you hear me? Never!— will you ever disrespect our father's guitar again."

Claire turns to him, with her face covered in an offended expression and obviously about to complain, but Chris is fast pushing the tuned guitar into Leon's hands with the words, "also, don't suggest again that anybody _owns_ my sister," and makes her recover her pleased smile. 

Leon smirks at the reaction and launches the redhead a short wink before curling his fingers around the neck of the guitar, happy at how perfectly it fits into his grip. The right strums the strings and for a second the three of them listen to the smooth vibration that forms in the wooden body and expands through the night. It’s the moment when the _perfect_ song for Chris Redfield dawns on him. 

“Okay,” he says as he positions his fingers on the strings. “Let’s go.”

He begins to strum the instrument, a little weakly at first, as the fingertips of his left still search for the right spots to press. It doesn’t sound bad, though, and he misses the right chords only a couple of times. When his look briefly jumps to the Redfield siblings, he sees Claire watching him, with curious eyes so tightly set on him that it almost makes him nervous. Chris, though, frowns in skepticism, unimpressed by the other’s musical skills, and without any reaction kicking in until Leon dares open his mouth to sing.

“I see the Bad Moon A-Rising-” is all he can intone before the older Redfield jumps up.

“Bad Moon….What the hell, Kennedy! What the fuck do you think you’re doing? _Bad Moon Rising_ is D A G?” he screams in frustration and shows, for the first time that night, that he's still capable of getting _angry_. “There’s no fucking F in D A G.”

The music dies when Chris rips the instrument from Leon’s hands.

"How dare you soil this divine instrument with your untalented sausage-fingers!" 

Leon, both baffled by the reaction and happy that his little concert just concluded, blinks at him and grins. “Because you asked me to.”

He’s sure he’s done far better than the last time he tried, a good couple weeks in the past, but he accepts the defeat more than willingly, only feeling _slightly_ offended when Chris starts strumming the same chords he’s tried to play a minute ago — the right chords this time. 

“This. This is how it’s done!” Chris points one finger at him. "You will NEVER disgrace the dulcet tones of CCR again!"

Leon wants to reply so badly, but his words get stuck halfway up the windpipe when Claire slams her palm onto the table and makes teacups and cookies defy gravity.

"Okay! That's enough!" She yells and grabs the guitar, quickly sitting it back into the case and closing it. "Enough of your dog fight for this year."

Chris and Leon seem to grow smaller with every move the redhead makes, the agent too intimidated by the fiery redhead that just seems to have awoken from a deep slumber. The older man, though, used to not taking shit from anyone, apparently refuses to leave the last word to the little sister.

"I play it better," he grunts and becomes the target of Claire's next scolding.

"You play it better because it's literally the only song you ever played." As Chris fails to object, or even to react, Claire turns to Leon. "Yeah, the musical talent of the Redfield family sadly died with our father."

That said, she grabs her own list of resolutions and hands it to her brother. "I think he's proven that he has started a hobby. So let's move on, or we'll still be sitting here in 2007."

The night blows in icy waves over the roof, easily cooling down the temper of the two hot-headed siblings, and Leon is grateful that he's stopped being the center of their attention for a minute. He admits, though, silently, that the night has turned out strangely entertaining, and the checking of Claire's and his new year's resolutions has become a welcome alternative to the usually monotonous New Year's Eves.

Chris reveals the next resolution on Claire's list and huffs.

"Learn French." A frowning face spins to the redhead. "What _kind_ of French?"

Claire, who has casually just lifted the cup to her lips, blows a heavy breath into it, making the spiced tea spill all over the cookies.

"Oh, shit."

Leon gives in to the nervous laugh that takes over, curious about Claire's French skills — of any kind. The woman uses the tip of her blanket to soak up the spilled drink and sighs.

"Vous avez une imagination très vive, Monsieur Redfield," she speaks in a voice so sensual that it sounds like a cutscene from a softporn movie. "C'est évident que je parle d'apprendre une nouvelle langue, mais je pense que c'est un fait incompréhensible pour quelqu'un comme vous."

A proud smirk grows on Chris' face when he listens to his sister speak in the most delicate French accent. He blows out an impressed breath and raises a finger.

"That's _Capitaine_ Redfield for you," he says and both siblings laugh, their breaths emerging in clouds of visible mist in the cold air. "Okay, I get it. You accomplished that one, too. Back to you, Kennedy."

Kennedy. That's him, it seems, and under normal circumstances, he would look at the older Redfield in expectation, excited to find out what the last one of his new year's resolutions was and if he has magically achieved that one, too. However, he's not excited or thrilled anymore.

He's scared.

He's more scared and frightened and nervous than he was in Raccoon City, whenever he heard the steps of that Tyrant-thing reverberate on the floor above or below, next to him, behind him, _around_ him. His heart beats faster now than it did in Spain, when he had to fight off hundreds of infected pseudo-monks in Salazar's castle while keeping Ashley Graham safe. The sweat drops are bigger now than they were in the Wilpharma facility, when everything around him was on fire.

He's more frightened than ever now because, when Claire mouthed her sensual love confession to the French language with her cherry lips curved into a delicious round smile, he suddenly remembered the fifth resolution on his list.

He's a dead man.

"Chris…" he tries to detain it all, his last chance to get off that roof unharmed. "Don't."

But Chris has already undone the paper roll, and the crackling of the unfolding sheet blasts through Leon's ears like thunder.

He should have told his mother that he loves her when he still had the chance to. 

"Kennedy?"

Now it’s too late.

"What the fuck does that mean?"

One eye shut in advance, his look drives to Chris when the other man holds up the list and turns it to face him, fingers curled so tightly around the edges of the paper that it nearly tears.

There it is, his death warrant, the shovel that will be used to dig his grave, finely traced with blue crayon onto that piece of paper in the shape of two little words.

 _Kiss Claire_.

"Chris, I…"

"Did you?"

Chris' voice has absorbed the overprotectiveness of the older brother, the one that will punish all the bastards that try to profane the precious mouth of his sister. No, he didn't. He didn't even try, oblivious to the resolution — the secret wish — he wrote down last New Year, but that won't stop Chris from killing him slowly and painfully. Claire would be the lucky one to watch.

"No. I didn’t.” Hands held up in a defensive manner, he begs for his life. “I swear I didn't."

Claire looks like she doesn't know what they're talking about. Probably because she really doesn't know about it. Hah! She'll be surprised when she discovers his alcohol-induced mindlessness, and she'll probably laugh at the situation while Chris strangles him with his own bowels.

"And what the fuck are you waiting for?"

Yup, he's a dead man.

_What?_

When Leon's head spins back to Chris in baffled incredulity, he finds the older man's look has dropped to the watch on his wrist.

"You got fifteen minutes."

Only fifteen minutes to midnight? Leon realizes astonishedly that the time has flown by so quickly in the company of the Redfield siblings that they're close to starting a new year already. But way more baffling than the speed of time is the reaction Chris shows to his unusual 2006 resolution. Leon isn't entirely sure, but intuition tells him the older Redfield is encouraging him to fulfil it.

"E-excuse me?"

Claire, in the meantime, turns her head from one man to the other, making her ponytail jump around anxiously.

"What does he have to do?" She asks, too shyly and quietly to actually catch anyone's attention with it. Chris snarls at the agent.

"Fourteen minutes, Leon. Clock's ticking."

It's a test. It must be a test, he's convinced. It's a test with only one correct answer and if he dares give the wrong one, he's royally fucked. He has one chance to save his ass. Determined to climb off the roof by himself instead of stuffed into a plastic bag, Leon sighs exaggeratedly and shakes his head.

"I can't just… That was a stupid idea Past Leon believed would be fun." He waves at Claire, who still blinks around in utter bafflement. "We both know that this is a bad idea."

"I don't even know what this is about," Claire mumbles to herself, once again overlooked by the two men. Chris has thrown the list onto the table and crosses his arms in front of his chest.

"A bad idea it is!" He yells, annoyance taking control over his actions as his finger begins tapping violently onto the paper. "But there must be a reason why you put it here."

The agent can't come up with a more convincing argument than a short shrug indicating his absolute cluelessness, but when he turns to the beauty in red hair, who sits pouting at the other side of the table, chewing boredly on her bottom lip, he remembers all the right reasons.

He always wanted to kiss her. Ever since they escaped Raccoon City together, he wondered how those lips would feel united to his own, if it could be the start of something wonderful, something that would give a new reason to the often so senseless fight. Claire broke his heart somehow, when she left for Europe to find her brother right after Raccoon City, but it was never enough for the fire of longing to die. Yes, he always genuinely wanted to kiss her, out of curiosity, maybe, just to see where it would take them, and what could have been hadn't there been a big brother fucking with them.

It's funny that said big brother is now pushing him to accomplish his goddamn resolution.

"I know why you did it. And I totally understand," Chris snarls with a nod as Claire blinks at him, still oblivious to the real reason behind their loud argument. "I do. I practically raised her. I know how fucking amazing she is. I also know that she's too good to be wasted on someone like you." He rolls his eyes and shrugs. "But you're the most decent option she has at hand, and it's time to put a ring on that finger to keep all her slimy suitors at bay."

That's the moment Claire realizes they are speaking of her and, after shaking the astonishment off, she eventually decides to intervene physically and punches her brother's upper arm once more.

"Ouch, fuck, Claire!"

She clears her throat in a passive-aggressive manner, demanding an explanation.

"What the fuck is this all about?"

She's punched harder than the last time, and Chris is still rubbing his shoulder when he grunts, "Little Kennedy here wants to kiss you before the year ends."

Time seems to stop. Claire's mouth drops open, and Leon swears he hears her gasp when she stares at him. Or maybe it's himself who gasps at the bright shimmer of blue in her eyes. Has he known before how impossibly blue her eyes are? 

"Is that true?"

Claire has stopped chewing on her lip and stares at him in awe, her eyes shining like the fireworks that are about to light up the night sky. 

"I…" When did he forget how to speak?

"Of course, it's true," Chris grunts displeased and waves his wrist in front of Leon's eyes. "And he has only nine minutes left."

Now he feels slightly pressed.

"Stop pushing, Redfield. Maybe your sister doesn't want to be kissed," he blurts out in irritation. "Who is treating her like an object now?"

Leon is actually right, Claire realizes through the fog of confusion and excitement that's invaded her mind, and she's about to complain, agree or just sing in joy as she gets up. Chris, however, is faster.

"Oh, come on! Do you really believe that?" He laughs mischievously and makes Claire hiss in anger. He has always been _passively_ messing up her crushes and little romances, only being the giant older brother who wouldn’t shy away from murder. But now that he’s actively intervening, Claire fears that she’s never going to see Leon again once Chris is done with him.

"Chris, stand back. I got this."

But the older brother doesn't shut up only because his sister says so.

"You got it? Don’t make me laugh,” he snorts and turns back to Leon. “How blind can one be, Kennedy? Why do you think she invited you over for New Year's Eve all these years, huh? She _wants_ you to kiss her at midnight. She wants you to tell her that you _love_ her, because it's obvious that you two love each other."

Despite the cold night, she feels a strange warmth crawl up her body as her heart begins to race like wild in her chest. It doesn't stop her from shaking, though. Leon's look has dropped to the table, obviously trying to hide something from the outer world. If it is irritation about Chris' behavior, or if it's really because her brother has hit a nerve of truth in him, that's hard to say, though. As for her, she has to admit that her brother is uncommonly _right_. So right he can't have come up with that idea alone.

"I always hated how smart Jill was," she suddenly says and smiles warmly, Chris mirroring her glance before getting up. "She always sensed such things."

"Yes, she did," he says and throws the blanket around his shoulders like a cape. "Listen, guys. Life is too short to waste it on the wrong New Year's Resolutions, especially if you both chose the same." Claire's eyes widen at the revelation, and she quickly grabs her own list, finding the words _Kiss Leon on the mouth_ traced down in her own handwriting. Chris laughs.

"Yeah, I peeked. Sorry." He shrugs and shakes his head in sadness. "Don't be afraid of trying and failing. In the end, you will only truly regret those things you _didn't_ do, like going to see Niagara Falls or getting engaged. Trust me, guys, I know what I'm talking about."

With those words, he turns around, swiping the cup of tea off the table with the blanket. It crashes to the floor, breaking into a thousand pieces.

"I'll clean this next year. Good night," he says and walks towards the stairs, leaving Claire and Leon alone on the roof.

The wind blows with deafening noise over the rooftops, as down on the streets the people get ready for the arrival of the new year and all the hope that comes along. Claire sighs deeply as her look drops to the ground. It has been a strange night. With Chris trying to joke the sadness of Jill's death away, their usual New Year's Eve has easily turned into a chaotic fever dream of a comparison of resolutions. 

And now? Now there's this immense thing between Leon and her. A dumb new year's resolution that has somehow brought up that unnamable issue that always hung over their friendship like a dark storm cloud, the question if they _could_ be happy if they _tried_ something different.

"Four minutes!"

Two faces turn to the stairs, from where Chris' voice emerges, surprising them with his innate talent for surveillance. They turn back to each other and find the familiar, trusted stare of a friend in the darkness of the night. Friends. They were always best friends, and maybe it's really time to change that. Claire smiles shyly, tickling the same reaction out of Leon when the agent slowly gets up and starts walking around the table towards her. 

And her heart is about to explode.

Leon stops right in front of her, both of them drowning in looks of desire and expectation. 

"Leon, you-" Claire hesitates as she tilts her head, a smirk blossoming on her lips. "You don't have to."

Even though she means it, she hopes and prays that he doesn't change his mind, that he will take her into his arms and hold her, and finally show her how it feels to be kissed by him. And the look he gives her— that look— it says everything she hopes and wants to know. They let the moment breathe, neither of them wanting to rush it.

"Sixty seconds!"

No, not them. Chris, however, who must have settled down on the stairs, is growing impatient. Claire and Leon have long stopped wondering how time passes by so fast, and just focus on the here and now, the particular scent of each other's perfume, the way their own heart beats.

"Thirty seconds! You're gonna lose, Kennedy!"

Fuck, now he needs to hurry. Now that the idea of kissing Claire has been growing in his mind, he has started imagining vividly what a kiss would actually mean, what they would be from now on, and what they would become. And no matter how frightening it might seem, knowing that he's with Claire makes it easier. Better. Just like BBQ sauce, Claire makes everything taste better, even the craziest New Year’s Eve he’s ever had.

"Ten seconds! Nine. Eight. Seven."

Too bad she also makes time run faster. Chris starts the countdown of the last seconds of the year, supported by the cheering people on the street. Leon chuckles and raises his hands to cup Claire's jaw in them.

"So…" he whispers.

"So," she replies, feeling her heart beating in her entire body.

Chris and the choir on the street keep counting.

"Four. Three. Two."

And before the last second passes, Leon closes his eyes and presses his mouth onto Claire's. Her lips are as soft as he always expected, with a hint of strawberry melting into the taste of spiced tea and butter cookies. Stupefied by the scent, the taste and the _feeling_ of her, his fingers crawl along her neck and down her shoulders, about to pull her into a tight embrace when the first screams on the street announce the new year.

"Happy New Year!"

The kiss lasts exactly two seconds. More than enough to make them realize that it's too short for both of them, but the turn of the year isn't an event meant to remain uncommented, and they take a moment to look into each other's eyes and analyze the situation on an emotional level.

"Happy New Year, Leon," Claire breathes softly into the little room between their lips and puts a smile onto the agent's face.

"Happy New Year, Claire." Their faces are so close that he can feel her breath tickle on his chin and he can't withstand the temptation to rub the tip of his nose against hers. It's funny to see what a stupid New Year's Resolution has caused. One they have achieved, by the way.

"I think we’ve successfully accomplished all of our 2006 resolutions." He smirks and makes Claire giggle, but a beary voice they almost forgot about reaches them in an authoritarian tone.

"I disagree, Kennedy!" The two of them turn to the side to find Chris leaned against the bannister, looking at them. "That what you call a kiss? Do I have to teach you how to kiss a girl as well? It's not a real kiss if I don't feel the need to turn my head away in disgust."

Leon rolls his eyes as Claire begins to laugh, welcoming the approaching brother in her embrace.

"Happy New Year, Chris!" She cries into his ear when she has her arms slung around him. "I'm glad you're here."

"Happy New Year, Claire-bear." The older brother hugs her tightly. "Thank you for inviting me over."

He then turns his foggy attention to Leon, and the two men exchange respectful pats on the shoulder before speaking out their New Year's greetings, joined by the melody of joy the people on the streets of New York seem to sing.

"Okay, guys, I'm off to bed," Chris grunts and walks back to the stairs. "Take your time. Good night."

They watch Chris descend the stairs and leave them alone — for good, this time. 

“Will he be okay?” Leon asks quietly and Claire hums.

“Yeah,” she replies. “He’s a big boy, and he’s got antidepressants for at least a month.”

Claire and Leon look at each other once more, the shyness they felt before long gone, and only the curiosity of what lies ahead beaming up in their hearts and eyes.

Leon slings his arms around the redhead and pulls her closer.

"So, do you want to make a list of 2007 resolutions, too?" Claire laughs at Leon's question and shrugs.

"Maybe, but we don't have to decide that now." She smirks as they softly lean into each other. "You can make New Year’s Resolutions as long as you believe you have time to achieve them before the year ends, remember?"

And with those words, they seal their lips with another kiss.

A _real_ one this time.

"Ewww. Enough, guys. That's disgusting."


End file.
